Facing the Music
by Mr. Phich
Summary: Sam might finally be ready to listen, to hear and to understand. But even if he's not, it's time to face the music. Abused!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Facing the Music**

_Summary: Sam might finally be ready to listen, to hear and to understand. But even if he's not, it's time to face the music. Abused!Dean. _

AN: This is a companion piece to Wayward Son, however, you absolutely do not need to read Wayward Son to understand as most of the text from that onehsot will be included here. However, if you would like Bobby's insight and the full text of Bobby's 'planned speech' (as discussed in this chapter), go ahead and read Wayward Son.

Warnings: Child Abuse. Neglect. Rape/Sexual Abuse. (Nothings graphic, only discussion there-of).

Each chapter name comes from a song, beside it will be listed the artist. I do not own these songs or have any rights to them.

**Chapter One: Hummingbird (Wilco)**

Sam had never seen Dean without his clothes on, he realized with a cold shudder. Not ever. Dean had seen Sam undressed, of course. But Sam had never seen Dean. He hadn't thought about it before, hadn't even noticed it. It was just the way it had always been.

It was Christmas and they were at Bobby's, hoping to have a peaceful holiday for once. Cas was planning on stopping by as soon as business in heaven died down. Sam had gone out on a last minute present run, determined as always to deliver a perfect gift. But this year, it was especially important. He had to make up for his soulless year. He just had to. And yeah, a Christmas present probably wouldn't do it, but it was a start, right?

He had come back and let himself in to Bobby's house, walked down the hall and into the study. Both Dean and Bobby had their backs facing the doorway – they hadn't seen him come in. Dean's shirt was doffed and the first aid kit was propped open beside Bobby. At first, Bobby blocked Sam's view of Dean's back.

"Everything alright?" Sam called out, looking in concern at the first aid kit. He wondered if something had attacked while he'd been out. But neither man reacted in the way Sam had come to expect them to around injuries. There were no growled 'idjits' or tales of bravery and bravado from Dean.

Dean jumped and lunged for his t-shirt. Bobby spun around, eyes stern.

"When did you get back?" Bobby demanded as Dean finally managed to pull his t-shirt over his head. But it was too late. Sam had seen them. There were scars up and down Dean's back and chest. Most of them were thin and straight – they looked like they had been made with a belt. A belt that had been swung down hard over and over again against his brother's back. Others were jagged and the scars stood up further. Sam knew from personal experience that these could only be made by a knife. The only scar of Dean's that Sam was at all familiar with stood out starkly against the others. And compared to the others, it was very new. Cas's handprint somehow manage to look completely pure surrounded by the others.

Could these scars be from hell? But Dean had said he hadn't had any scars since he got back from hell. But he couldn't have possibly gotten them at Lisa's and Sam would have realized if Dean had gotten this badly hurt while they were together. Could Dean have lied about the scars after hell?

What about the scars from the hell hound? Sam hadn't seen that much damage…or maybe he had. There had been long claw marks down Dean's chest and his stomach had been a mess of scar tissue, but most of the wounds from the hell hounds would be on Dean's legs, and Sam hadn't seen those.

"Dean? Where did you get all those scars?" The voice that left Sam's mouth was not one he recognized as his own. It was very small and very scared and very young. Dean looked up at Bobby, then away.

"Maybe we should tell him, champ."

"I – I don't know, Bobby. I don't think that's such a good idea."

"He needs to know," Bobby insisted. Dean shrugged, his entire body folding into the movement until he was completely hunched into himself.

"How about I tell him? You can go and rest. Sound good?"

Dean nodded and with one last look at Sam he turned to leave. Just as he turned the corner, he swiveled around and gave Sam a soft, reassuring smile, before he disappeared.

Sam turned to Bobby with wide eyes, seeking answers. Reassurance. Anything that would make this scared, vulnerable feeling go away. The thing was Bobby didn't usually give reassurance. That was more Dean's forte. Well, not his forte exactly, but certainly it had been Dean who had done all of the reassuring during Sam's childhood.

Bobby sighed and rubbed his forehead. He gestured for Sam to sit down. Sam didn't want to sit, but he did anyway.

"I've had what I was going to say when this came up for a long time, kid," Bobby started, voice slow and deep. "But now it seems…inadequate to explain what your brother…" Bobby trailed off, sighing again. "But it's better than nothing."

Bobby did not do reassurance well, Sam decided. Not at all well. The fearful, vulnerable, panicky feeling was growing, becoming harder to ignore. He was about to learn something awful, it said, clawing at his insides – at his newly restored soul.

"Do you know what your first word was?" Bobby asked, out of the blue.

"What does that have to –"

"It was Daddy." Bobby went on, ignoring him. Sam was confused, to say the least. What did their Dad have to do with this? "But you didn't call John Daddy. You called Dean Daddy."

"What? No I didn't!"

"Yes. You did. You still do when you're sick or hurt or half asleep." Sam blushed.

"Why would I call Dean Daddy?" Bobby looked at him with a sort of disappointed look, eyes heavy with something Sam couldn't recognize and wasn't sure he wanted to recognize even if he did.

"Because he was your Daddy, ya idjit. He raised you. You knew that when you were a babe, at least."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded.

"Ever since you came back from Stanford…you haven't treated that boy right, Sam. He deserves more from you."

Sam gaped at Bobby. The old hunter went on though, clearly in full rant mode now.

"Do you have any appreciation for what he did for you? What he gave up for you? No, obviously not. That boy – he raised you from the day your momma died." Sam's breath hitched, half in surprise and half in hurt; surprise at Bobby mentioning his Mom, the subject had been taboo for as long as Sam could remember; hurt at the accusations. It's not that he didn't appreciate Dean, it's just that…well Sam had made sacrifices for the life they lived too…

"John lied to you, ya know that? He told you that he left you with folks when he went huntin', but he never did. He left you with Dean even when you were only six months old. And Dean only four. Fuck, the boy was only four. What was he supposed to do with a six month old baby?"

Sam shook his head. That couldn't be true. Dad had told him that…

"Sometimes John would leave you in motels, other times empty houses. He left money for food, but Dean did all the shopping. Dean made your bottles and changed your diapers and gave you baths and put you to bed. He held your hand when you took your first steps and understood your baby babble better than anyone. He took care of you when you were sick and found ways to deal with colic and teething and diaper rash without ever seeing a doctor. He was four. Four years old, but he was already grown up.

"And not only did he have to take care of you, he had to take care of himself too. And it's no easy task to take care of a four year old even when you're grown. The first time Dean handled a gun was on his fifth birthday. He fired it the same day. The first time he shot something was two weeks later. Your father made him kill a man to prove that he could. Admittedly, he was hardly a good man, but your father made his son, his five year old son, kill a man."

"No!" Sam denied. "No that's not true. We don't kill people. We only kill monsters. And Dad… Dad wouldn't have made Dean even do that when he was five!"

"He did though. Dean might tell you about the guy someday."

"But… no…" Sam tried again, but Bobby ignored him and kept going, breaking all of Sam's illusion, changing his world irrevocably, and not seeming to care what it was doing to Sam. But if all this was true…maybe…

"Dean didn't go to school until you turned five. He couldn't, because who would stay home with you? It never once crossed his mind to leave you alone as John had done to him. He taught himself from stolen books. He taught you to read when you were four, and helped you with all your homework. He cooked you dinner and gave you baths and told you stories and sung you lullabies. He put you in time out and weaned you off a bottle and then a pacifier.

"He stole clothes for you and stitched them up when you ripped them. He kissed your 'boo-boo's' and put Scooby-Doo band-aid's on them. He was the one who never told your dad you wet the bed 'til you were twelve and went out and bought you goodnites, even though when he was caught he was teased at school, just so John wouldn't find out and you could sleep peacefully." Sam blushed heavily.

"He did your laundry and folded your clothes. Even when you were growing like a weed, he kept you clothed in things that fit. He did that. Not John. He never let anyone hurt you. He didn't stand for you to be bullied. Starting when he was fourteen he attended all of your parent-teacher conferences. He never left you alone. He told you that he was watching over you and that nothing would ever hurt you. Not ever."

…maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved Bobby's lack of compassion. Lack of sympathy for Sam's changing world. For hurting Dean like he had done. For taking his brother for granted. He did deserve it. He should know this so he never did it again, so that there was never another day of his life where he didn't think about the childhood his brother had given up. For him. For Sam. Sammy. And Sammy had thrown it back into his face, again and again and again.

God, how could he have done that? How could he have hurt his brother like that? He had been such an idiot, such a jerk. He had hurt Dean. Over and over again. He was an awful brother…an awful, did he….could he…yes. How could he not now. He had been an awful son. He had done more than hurt his brother. More than hurt Dean. He had hurt his dad. His Daddy. The word he couldn't ever remember calling his…John.

"And the scars?" The words came out of his mouth before Sam had a chance to think about the question.

Bobby buried his head in his hands and Sam braced himself.

It wasn't enough.

"John gave them to him. But not before he raped him."

Sam's world collapsed around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Facing the Music**

_Summary: Sam might finally be ready to listen, to hear and to understand. But even if he's not, it's time to face the music. Abused!Dean. _

AN: This is a companion piece to Wayward Son, however, you absolutely do not need to read Wayward Son to understand as most of the text from that onehsot will be included here. However, if you would like Bobby's insight and the full text of Bobby's 'planned speech' (as discussed in this chapter), go ahead and read Wayward Son.

Warnings: Child Abuse. Neglect. Rape/Sexual Abuse. (Nothings graphic, only discussion there-of).

Each chapter name comes from a song, beside it will be listed the artist. I do not own these songs or have any rights to them.

Short chapter - will update soon.

**Chapter Two: Better Man (James Morrison)**

Bobby opened his mouth to say more, but Dean's voice interrupted him before he could say anything.

"That's enough." Both men turned to look at Dean.

"Dean, he –"

"It's enough, Bobby. You made him cry. He's heard enough." Sam didn't notice until just then that his cheeks were wet with tears. His shoulders trembled uncontrollably. He couldn't think. He couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. What could he say to Dean?

There was no way to make this better. There just wasn't. It wasn't going to get better. Their Dad – no John was always going to have abused Dean. Beat Dean. …raped him.

"De-" but he couldn't even finish his brother's name. It didn't feel right in his mouth anymore. He knew there was a better word. A better name. But it wouldn't come to his lips. He wasn't ready to say it, to call Dean…to call his brother…his father…

Dean stepped forward and wrapped an arm easily around Sam's shoulders, guiding him to his feet.

"C'mon buddy, let's get you cleaned up." This was Dean as Sam remembered him. Kind, soft, protective, but somehow all hard edges. His muscles a hard, but easy pillow, his arm a familiar guide. They walked into the kitchen together. Dean dampened a washcloth. Maybe, if it was any other day, if these were any other tears, Dean would have handed the washcloth to Sam so he could clean himself up. Today, Dean gently wiped away Sammy's tears and the salty tracks on his face.

"It's okay Sammy. It was a long time ago."

Sam just shook his head. "It's not okay, De- " Again the name got stuck in his throat. He couldn't call him that anymore. He understood, but could he accept it?

"It's okay Sammy. Whatever you wanna call me is a'okay with me. You got it?"

Sam shakily nodded his head. Here was Dean as he had always been - strong, comforting, untouchable - with Sammy falling apart. It should be the other way, Sam thought to himself. Sam should be taking care of Dean, holding him up for once. Dean had every right to fall apart now. But he hadn't.

"Sammy," Dean sighed softly, "It's alright. I've had a long time to ...process everything that happened. You haven't. It's okay."

"I - how. How could I have not known?"

"He was careful. I was careful."

And then. "Why didn't Bobby do anything? Why didn't he take you away? Keep you safe."

"He tried Sammy. He really did. He found out when - when you turned fifteen. It was my choice to stay."

"Why would you do that? Why?"

"I had to protect you, Sammy. It wasn't so bad then. He, uh, he liked me more when I was younger."

Sammy started to cry. Dean pulled him into his arms and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, humming softly under his breath.

"We're gonna be okay, Sammy. Everthing's alright." As Sammy calmed down, Dean led him upstairs and tucked him into bed as though Sam were no older than five. Tucking the blankets under Sam's chin and giving a kiss to his forehead, Dean calmed the worst turmoil in Sam.

Things weren't even close to good, but Dean would make sure that they were at least okay. Sam could always be sure of that.


	3. Chapter 3

****_An: So sorry about the delay. RL, y'know? I'm going to try and have this finished (le gasp!) by Sunday, cause I'm going out of the country, but no promises! _

**And So It Goes (Billy Joel)  
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Usually Sam didn't wake during the night unless to his own nightmares. That night he did. He suddenly, some noise pulling him out of his deep, dreamless sleep. The light of the moon illuminated the room he and Dean shared at Bobby's. Bobby was there, leaning over Dean who appeared to be having some sort of panic attack.

"Shh, Dean. It's alright. He's not here. He's dead. He's not gonna hurt you no more." Dean's breathing slowed under the litany of reassurances.

"You didn't take your anti-anxiety meds." Bobby said, disapproval clear in his voice.

"I don't need that shit anymore, Bobby. Haven't taken it in years."

"I know, kid, but you don't think after that scar splitting open and telling Sam everything you're entitled a little anxiety?"

Sam could see Dean's figure shrug slightly.

"Where do you keep it?"

"S'in the Impala," Dean mumbled.

"I'm gonna go get it. You keep yourself calm, boy, y'hear."

"Yeah, I know."

Sammy waited til Bobby was gone and his foot falls had faded to nothing before he called out, the name leaving his mouth surprising him as much as it didn't Dean.

"Daddy?"

Dean was up in a minute and by his side in five seconds flat.

"Whatsa matter kiddo?"

"Are you alright?" Dean's eyes softened.

"Yeah. You heard that, huh?" Sam nodded. "I'm alright, tiger, I just get a little anxious sometimes. It's okay. It was a lot worse when I was younger. I'm pretty good these days."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I made things harder for you. All the time, I bet. And then I found out and...Bobby said that was making you feel - feel anxious."

Dean sighed heavily. He squished onto the bed and moved them around until Sammy was laying cuddled up against his chest.

"It's bringing up a lot of old memories, Sam. It's not you. I just - I know that you have a lot of questions. Why don't you just go ahead and ask."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you don't. And you're not going to. If I don't feel up to answering, I won't. S'okay Sammy." Dean sounded...something. Resigned? Far away, at least. Like he was hardly even there with him. Yet Sammy didn't doubt that he was, that Dean was always with him. He'd only ever doubted it while Dean was in hell. And well, maybe a little while he was at Stanford.

"Why'd Da- John hurt you?"

"I wish I knew, Sammy. I - I think it's because I reminded him of mom."

"But why'd that make him hurt you?"

"It hurt too much to look at me Sammy. It just - it hurt both of us, how much I was like her. Am like her."

"Is - is that why..." Sammy trailed off, but Dean seemed to understand.

"I think so. I don't think he would have - would have touched me that way if Mom had lived. I don't think he was a - a pedophile, y'know. He never wanted you that way."

"He didn't?"

"No. Sometimes he wanted to hurt you. He wanted to hurt you a lot." Dean admitted. "But - but..."

"Why didn't he?"

"I don't want to answer that." Dean had protected him, as he always had. Dean had taken the hurt for him, as he was always willing to do. Dean gently stroked his hair, calming him. Sam could feel himself start to drift off to sleep.

"How'd you learn to be a dad?"

"That was easy Sammy. That was always easy." Sam drifted off to sleep, Dean's hands in his hair and rubbing circles on his back.

When he woke again, the sun was shining brightly through the window, warm on his face and arms. He felt relaxed but also nervous, and it took a minute for him to pinpoint exactly why. When he did, the despair he had felt yesterday washed over him again. He turned to the side and burrowed under his blankets. Stifling his sobs with his fist, Sam cried. His whole body shook with his sobs. He felt like he didn't know which way was up. He was tailspinning, completely lost in terrain that used to be familiar but wasn't anymore. Simple assumptions - Dad actually does love me. My Dad is John Winchester. John was a dick but he took care of me. None of these things were true. Not at all.

His whole world, shifted sideways and turned inside out.

"Sammy, you up?" Dean. No, his Daddy. Sam tried harder to stifle the sobs, to stop the shaking of his body.

"Buddy? You cryin'?" Dean came over to his side, laying a hand on Sam's broad, quivering back.

"No-o." Sam denied.

"S'okay if you are." Dean said softly. "Look, uh there was a little while, while you were at Stanford where I saw this shrink, right? Bobby made me, so don't go sayin' nothin. Anyway she used to say that people around me who find out - they hafta grieve. They have to grieve who they thought I was, and y'know, the things I didn't get when I was a kid. And that I can't really get that, because people aren't built to grieve for themselves, y'know? I had - have - to go through a different thing to process and shit. Move on or whatever. So it's okay if you needta cry. You're grievin. That's alright."

Sam cried harder. Dean's hand stayed on his back, rubbing gentle circles.

When Sam finally settled down, Dean left him alone to shower and dress and headed downstairs to start pancakes - Dean could make them from scratch and weird as hell ingredients, too, so even considering that Bobby only really stocked up on was liquor, Sam was sure breakfast would be delicious.

He was, of course, right. If there was one thing he was familiar with, it was Dean's cooking. Dean had cooked all his meals and packed all of his lunches growing up - even when Dad was home. Unless they were at a diner, it was Dean-food. Dean-food was Sam's comfort food and he had missed it more than anything while he was at Stanford.

After breakfast, the day devolved into any other day while they were at Bobby's. Dean dissapeared into the scrap yard to work on the Impala and any other car Bobby might want a hand on. Bobby manned the phones and did research for any hunter that needed it. Sam helped.

It was any other day. But it didn't feel like any other day.


End file.
